


Hagim

by nirejseki



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Jewish Character, Jewish Holidays, Jewish Leonard Snart, M/M, basically all gen, only hints of shipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:02:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7557550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of Leonard Snart's life, told in Jewish holidays which he - mostly - celebrates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rosh Hashanah

Leo is seven and very excited. 

Mom doesn’t always have time to play with him – she’s very busy – but every year, come September, she always brings home fresh apples and cuts him slices, drizzled in honey squeezed out of a funny bear-shaped bottle. Every year she tells him about how at first he was suspicious because he preferred pre-packaged meals in greasy bags from the fast food restaurants, as a general rule, but as soon as he was convinced to try it, it was so sweet and crisp he couldn’t get enough of it. Leo giggles and tells her to stop telling that old story ‘cause he’s all grown up now.

“For a sweet new year,” Mom would whisper to him every year around this time, tickling his sides. “C’mon, _motek_ ; it’s good luck!”

For the last two years, when Dad wasn’t around, she’d spent a few hours in the bathroom making herself pretty before taking him on a long bus ride to a big, pretty building, with colored glass on the window that was in the shapes of triangles or circles or squares. Inside people were sitting in benches in long rows.

They were always late, but it never mattered. They always made it in time for the blowing of the shofar.

The people at the pretty building were usually pretty happy and they handed out bites of sweet, round bread stuffed with raisins for _free_ , as much as you liked, plus apples and honey and red seeds from a pomegranate and everything. It was _awesome_.

(Last year, Leo’d actually gotten to stick around to play with the other children afterwards, with the little plastic shofars that no one could get to blow properly. Leo had great hopes for this year.)

Mom’s been really busy this year, though. Dad had come back from his long stay away in prison and he was very easily upset by little disturbances to his schedule, and Mom’s been going to the hospital a lot, or maybe it was just the doctor’s office – Leo’s not really sure, the few times he’d gone with her were awful and he mostly remembered it only as a blur of white and steel and the smell of antiseptic – but it was already the middle of September and they hadn’t gotten ready or anything. Leo wasn’t sure when the holiday was, but he didn’t want them to miss it.

Today he’s going to go ask her about it.

Leo knocks at his parent’s door, having already checked that Dad wasn’t around because Dad never liked it when they talked about any type of religion but especially Mom’s, and pokes his head in when there’s no answer. Mom’s in bed again, a wet cloth on her head and her eyes closed.

“Mom?” Leo asks.

“What is it?” she replies.

“We gotta go get apples, Mom,” Leo says happily, clambering onto the bed. 

“I’m too tired, baby. Maybe another day.”

“But we _gotta_ , Mom! It’s good luck, remember? How’re we gonna have a sweet new year without it?”

“Not today, baby. We’ll go another day, okay?”

Leo pouts and screws up his face like he’s gonna cry, but Mom shoos him out of the room without looking at him again.

Leo goes, but he’s worried. He’s been worried, actually; they’re halfway through September and they haven’t celebrated yet. But surely no one would notice if they missed it, just this once?

Mom goes away that year and doesn't come back; Leo never finds out why. A few months later, Dad brought another woman home, round and already starting towards fat with a baby in her belly, and months and months after that, after little Lisa had been born, he married her early in the month of next year’s September, as if Mom had never been around. 

Leo is eight and he still doesn't know exactly when the new year is, but he snuck into Lisa’s bedroom and let her suckle some honey off his finger. “Have a sweet new year, Lis,” he whispered to her, kissing her lightly on the head. “You should have the _sweetest_ year.”

He’ll make sure of it.


	2. Lag B'Omer

It's a gorgeous day in the month of May, a fact which is entirely lost on virtually everyone currently housed at the Keystone juvenile facility. Mick in particular isn’t very impressed; if it were just a bit hotter, he might’ve been able to use a piece of glass he’d found to try to light a few sticks on fire. It’d never worked before, but he remains hopeful.

Len had been loitering in the library for the last few days for some reason. He's probably up to something. Len is _always_ up to something. Seriously, Mick has never met another kid who bubbles over with plans and schemes the way Len does, and it feels like every last one of them is designed to get Len into more and more trouble.

Mick’s not exactly sure when or why he decided he was going to be responsible for keeping this stupid idiot alive, but it’s been a full-time job thus far. At least it distracts him from the tedium of juvie.

Len comes out of the building where the library is, squinting against the bright light but otherwise looking pleased with himself.

Christ, he’s murdered someone with a papercut, hasn’t he.

Len spots Mick and makes a beeline over – not because Len is smart enough to know he should stick close to Mick for his own protection, of course, but because Len is the sort of avid talker who can’t think up an idea without sharing it with someone.

Anyone.

Mick’s a perennial favorite, of course, because he’s there and he needs to be nearby to keep an eye out for the people who want to hurt Len, but Len’s rambled at every single person on the field, up to and including the crazy people.

Mick is still convinced that Charlie wants to cut Len into pieces and eat him up. 

“Hey, Mick,” Len says cheerfully. 

“Whose body are we burying?” Mick asks back gloomily.

Len blinks at him. “Whose – will you stop assuming I killed someone? Or something? I was just in the _library!_ ” 

“Yeah, just like the time you were _just_ in the gym.”

“…nobody died that time.”

“You sent four kids to the infirmary.”

Len rolls his eyes. “They deserved it,” he says briskly. “Now onto more important subjects – come with me, we need to go talk to admin.”

“Why in the world would you want to talk to admin?” Mick says, bemused.

Turns out Len wants a day pass for a “religious event” he wants to attend – in the middle of _May?_ – and he wants to take Mick with him. Because apparently Mick’s been considering converting (news to him) and it’s very important for Mick’s emotional stability to be allowed to explore healthier outlets for his obsessive nature.

Mick keeps his mouth firmly shut, smiling and nodding to the adults who look more bored than anything else, but once they get the pass stamped he hisses at Len, “Are you _nuts?_ ”

Len has the gall to look offended.

“You’ve got, like, three months left,” Mick continues. “There’s no need to run away now; whatever you want can wait.”

“I’m not planning on running away!”

“Then what are you planning?”

Turns out Len is actually planning on going to church (though Len calls it temple) to celebrate this stupid holiday and he’s dragging Mick with him. What the hell. Mick hadn’t even realized Len was religious – it doesn’t seem like him.

They get dropped off at the door to this big building on the side of town by a bored-looking teacher with strict instructions to be there at eight to be picked up. 

“I can’t believe we’re attending church,” Mick grumbles. “I know I said I was bored, but I’m pretty sure juvie is better than _church_.” His memories of church involve starched suits and long lectures and slowly contemplating throwing himself out the window. 

Len rolls his eyes and leads him through the building, smiling and waving at the adults, to the back door letting out into the yard.

Mick distantly notes that the backyard – more of an adjoining field, really – is filled with picnic blankets and giant tables filled with food, but his attention is captivated by the gigantic bonfire, easily twice his height.

Mick gapes. 

Len waits a good amount of time – even Mick notices that time has gone by, which means that a lot of it passed – before punching him in the arm. “C’mon, let’s get food and then we can go sit and watch the fire all evening,” he offers.

“Why is there a fire?” Mick says helplessly. He hasn’t been allowed this close to a fire since he got tossed into juvie; the teachers were always very careful about it, and he’s never been allowed to just sit and stare for hours and hours at one this large, this beautiful. 

Len grins wickedly. “Religious tradition,” he says. “Not my fault the teachers back at juvie didn’t know how Lag B’Omer gets celebrated.”

Mick turns hungry eyes on Len. “Are you telling me,” he says slowly, “that you guys do this _every year_?”

“Yeah?” Len replies. “It’s a holiday? Once a year, every year, s’kinda how it goes. I’m a Jew on holidays only; I don’t do a lot of the other stuff – way too complicated – but holidays I like. They’re pretty fun.”

“And your other holidays, what do they involve?” 

Len shrugs. “Mostly food? And liquor. Lots of liquor.”

“Any other ones involving fire?”

“Yeah, I think so – well, there’s burning the bread on Passover, for one...”

Mick contemplates this for a long moment. “Right,” he says. “Where do I sign up?”

Len laughs. 

Turns out you have to be born into it, but Len promises that Mick can be his plus-one forever.


	3. Hannukah

December feels strangely empty without Len around.

Sure, Lisa went to visit him in Iron Heights, but it’s not really the same. And the little bastard made her promise not to seek revenge on the fucker that double-crossed him on that job of his and got him locked up; said it wasn’t really in the holiday spirit. He smiled when he said that, like he can will her to ignore the circles of exhaustion under his eyes and the way orange is _really_ not his color, the way he waited for her to leave first like she wouldn’t be able to figure out that he only did that when he didn’t want her to see him limping. 

With Lenny in lock-up, Lisa’s got problems of her own. Mostly related to college, and paying for it; it’s amazing how quick her bank account drains when it’s not being regularly topped off by an over-involved big brother who’s listed as joint owner but never takes anything out. 

Lisa wasn’t the most rebellious teenager in the world, at least not against Len, but she was just as self-involved; she thought she was fine out there on her own right up until her support was taken away from under her and she had to keep on pedaling without the training wheels.

Being on your own _sucks_.

No Len to swing by and give you presents and a hard time; no friends who stuck around after hearing that Lisa’s big brother – who they all thought was _so_ hot – got himself arrested. At least there’s no Dad, either; he’s still serving time for that murder a few years back that Lisa still suspects Lenny might’ve called the cops on, even though the jerk denies it.

Well, Lisa doesn’t need anyone, even if she might like to have them around. 

She dresses herself up in her best older-casual outfit, the one that makes her look five years older and mature enough not to care about what she’s wearing, and applies her make-up with care. She smiles at herself in the mirror and goes to the casino.

Gold’s her favorite thing in the world, and it’s _just_ the right time of year to put to work twenty years of learning the rules of gambling at her big brother’s knee. Len was as likely to forget that it was Hannukah as not – after all, it wasn’t like anyone was giving _him_ presents, and he was always far more concerned with making sure that Lisa didn’t feel neglected – but Lisa was a greedy little brat and the second she saw the bags of chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil in the shops, she would be tugging on his harm and begging for them.

Len would invariably bring home a few bags of coins and teach her to play dreidel. When Lisa was a little kid, it was just spinning it and letting the rules of luck guide her; when she got a little older, Len taught her a few more tricks: how luck could be bent with some sleight of hand, how to make coins disappear from one pile and appear in another without revealing them, how the shiny gold of the coins served as a lovely distraction while you did other things.

He taught her some other things, too, all unmeaning. But really, how was Lisa supposed to interpret stories of rebelling against oppressive authority in any way _other_ than to say fuck the police?

She gets to the casino and lingers by the bar, finger on her mouth as she peruses the cocktail list like she’s having trouble making up her mind.

An older man, fingers fat with rings and stinking of expensive cologne, slides in next to her, offering an excessively smooth line and a drink. He wants a pretty young thing to hang off his arm while he plays the tables, all the attention on him, and that’s just fine with Lisa, with her empty bag just waiting to be filled with wallets and casino chips when no one’s looking. 

Lisa smiles as the lights of the casino glitter all around her. 

Festival of Lights, indeed.


	4. Sukkot

“We should lie low like this all the time,” Lisa says, stretching out under the shade of the little wooden fort.

“Don’t make fun of my religion,” Len says. He’s already lounging, frozen fruity cocktail in hand. 

“You don’t even celebrate your religion right,” Mick says, walking back with a tray of steaming fish right off the grill. Lisa perks up a bit in interest. “Aren’t you supposed to build the fort yourself?”

“It’s called a _sukka_ , I think,” Len says lazily. “And whatever. Besides: it’s wooden, we covered the roof with leaves, and we’ve got fruit.” He pointedly waves his drink at the two of them. “I’m pretty sure we’re covered.” 

“You’re legitimately terrible at this,” Mick laughs and settles down next to Len.

“I’m okay with that,” Lisa interjects, smirking. “You know, I’m starting to see why all those white collar criminals come to the Cayman Islands to escape the law. I _like_ this resort.”

“And they even said we can stay out here in this little beach-house structure all night if we want,” Len says with satisfaction. “See? I’m totally religiously observant.”

“You’re not staying out here when we’ve all got perfectly good beds inside,” Mick says firmly, popping a grilled piece of mahi mahi in his mouth. “You don’t actually gotta do that; I asked around last time. Lisa, pass me one of those margaritas, will you?”

Lisa obediently grabs one and offers it over. “Don’t you have to do something with shaking a branch or something?” she asks. “Lulav or whatever?”

Len hums thoughtfully. “I’m pretty sure the lulav’s like a palm branch?” he says. “Maybe a couple of other branches. And you need a citrus fruit. Hey, Mick, grab me a palm leaf and a lime from where they keep the Coronas; I’ll do a little shimmy and call it a day.”

“You are the _worst_ Jew,” Mick says. “And also fuck you, I’m not getting up again.”

“Uuuuuugggh. I’ll do it later, then.”

“Lazy bastard,” Lisa says with a giggle.

“Nag.”

“Jerk.”

“Trainwreck.”

“You’re both idiots, how about that?” Mick says. “Now if you don’t mind, I wanna gorge myself on fish and liquor and take a nice nap before going for a swim in our _private pool_. Sound good to the two of you?”

“Excellent plan,” Len says. “Full marks. You clearly should be the brains of this operation instead of me.”

“When it comes to relaxing, I _should_ be,” Mick says with a snort. “You’re terrible at turning off that big brain of yours.”

“I’ll let you plan all future vacations,” Len promises. “I will admit, reluctantly, that this was a damn good idea.”

Mick grunts contentedly even as Lisa nods.

“I can’t believe it’s so quiet here,” she says, not for the first time. “I would’ve thought it’d be crowded and awful.”

“Technically it’s tropical storm season,” Len says, sinking deeper into his pool chair with a happy sigh. “Haven’t you noticed the random bursts of rain?”

“They’re nice and warm,” Lisa points out. “I like ‘em.”

“Tourists don’t.”

“Fuck tourists,” Mick interjects, and they both hum happily in agreement. 

“Seriously, though,” Lisa says, stretching as far as she can manage and wiggling her toes. “Next time you two get a score this big, we are _totally_ doing this again.”


	5. Tu Bishvat

Everything hurts.

It’s not that Mick regrets breaking out of the ambulance or letting himself heal on his own, watching the scars form on his arms with fascination in between bandaging, but he ran out of the morphine a while back and he can’t be bothered to get up to get more, at least until the pain fades.

Catch-22.

He maybe regrets some other parts of it: the flames had been so beautiful, so heartbreakingly lovely, but the way they shone off of Len’s eyes as he’d futilely screamed at him to run, voice breaking, sometimes woke him up at night and made him stare at the ceiling. Mick wanted to see the world burn more than anything else, more than getting the perfect score, more than adrenaline and fighting and liquor, but sometimes he thought that seeing Len burn wouldn’t be fun at all.

If someone had to die, better that Mick go first.

Not that it's his problem anymore. Len’s note, left behind at the safe house, had made that pretty clear. The cheap steel ring that he’d left there to hold the note down had been even clearer.

Mick doesn’t know what he's feeling about it. He’d gotten angry, because Len’d always known how Mick felt about fire and he had no right to hold it against him, none at all. He’d gotten sad, because maybe it was his fault, picking fire over Len, and that meant Len had the right to pick himself over the fire. He’d gotten drunk, too, though that was less of an emotion and more of a coping mechanism; not thinking about things too hard had gotten him this far in life, so why change what worked?

It's hard not to think about Len, though. 

Mick wishes he had some more morphine. Maybe that’d help him stop thinking the weirdest thoughts, like his conviction that Len is going to go back to eating crappy boxed meals once a day instead of eating like a normal person, or the nightmares he had sometimes of someone walking into their favorite safehouse back in Central and shooting Len in the back, right between the shoulder blades, before Len can turn around and then leaving Len to bleed out on the floor, quiet and choking on his own blood because Mick’s not there to watch out for him. 

Not his problem anymore.

Mick forces himself out of his bed to go grab something from the kitchen. He’ll be damned if he survived that fire just to starve to death. Not enough energy to go out, but the kitchen’s pretty well stocked. Surprisingly well stocked, even, for a house that Mick swears they haven’t been in for at least a year; maybe Len was planning some job here.

Mick staggers to the other room and stops, blinking.

There’s a goddamn tree in his kitchen.

…and a box that looks suspiciously like it has high-grade painkillers on it. No note, but there doesn’t really need to be one.

Mick can’t help but smile.

Fucking Snart.

Looks like he’s not the only one having trouble not thinking.


	6. Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement)

Len’s scowling at the calendar and it’s fall.

Mick thinks about it a minute and grins, stretching out and putting down his brand new heat gun. “Hey, Lenny,” he drawls, long and slow and gets the joy of seeing Len’s shoulders tighten up in anticipation of the ribbing he’s about to get. “Anything you want to say to me?”

“You’re a dick,” Len says immediately.

Mick waits patiently. Len’s like a stray cat; you need to give him some time to ease off his first instinctive lash out.

It's Yom Kippur, and Len hates this holiday with a passion. Not only does he not eat, he has to _apologize_. Len’s not actually all that religious, but Yom Kippur was the only holiday his mom (or maybe some rabbi he knew when he was a kid, what does Mick know) insisted he celebrate and so he does, every year, with grim determination. It’s hilarious to watch.

Also, Mick’s kinda curious to know what Len’s gonna pick to apologize to him about.

“…and I’m sorry for any wrongs I may have done to you this past year,” Len adds through gritted teeth. There’s a pause, and he adds, as it it’s been torn out of him: “I’m sorry for ditching you a few years ago, and for threatening to shoot you when we last met up. I’m sorry for getting you involved in my crazy.”

“Hey,” Mick objects mildly before Len can go too far down that road. “I like your new crazy.” He runs his fingers lovingly over the heat gun. “I like your new crazy a _lot_.”

Len snorts. “You missed that gun more in the two months you didn’t have it than you did me in the two years you didn’t see me.”

Mick pretends to think about that, humming and weighing his hands like scales.

Len laughs.

Mick gets a terrible idea and grins. “Hey, Len,” he says.

Len, who knows his tones of voice by now, arches an eyebrow warily. 

“Who’ve you apologized to so far today?” Mick asks.

“Lisa n’you,” Len says suspiciously. “Why?”

“What about the Flash?”

“I’m not apologizing to the Flash!”

“Or the kid who made us our new guns?”

Len looks affronted.

“You liked ‘em,” Mick reminds him. “And you wouldn’t be having any of this new fun without the Flash.”

Len’s look of annoyance is rapidly shifting into a look of horror as he contemplates his religious duty. If he’d forgotten about it, he probably could have gotten away with shoving it under the miscellaneous ‘and everybody else I’ve forgotten about’ catch-all he usually did in the evenings, but as it is…

“You’re a _dick_ ,” he says, and storms off in a huff.

Mick snickers and follows. He’d been planning on trying out some new adjustments on his gun, but he’s not missing this for the _world_.

They stop at repairman-kid’s house first. Mick doesn’t even ask why Len knows where his apartment is, but he never questioned that Len did.

It’s legitimately hilarious to watch Len instinctively crouch to pick the lock, then remember it was a holiday, curse, apologize for cursing, then get up to ring the doorbell. Like a comedy act.

“Who is it?” the kid yells.

Len rolls his eyes. “Pizza delivery for a Francisco Ramon!” he calls back.

“Holy shit, already? You guys get faster every time, I swear –” He pulls open the door.

Mick sticks his arm out to keep him from closing the door again immediately. “Hi, kid,” he says with a smirk.

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” the kid stutters, backing up a step. “Not you two again!”

Len is glaring like he hates Mick personally. “Don’t worry, Ramon, we’re not here to hurt you.”

“I’m not improving your guns!”

Like Mick would want the Flash to know how all of his updates worked anyway. Though there were a few tricks he was thinking of that he’d love to have someone make…

“We’re not here for that,” Len says, then quickly adds. “Don’t guess why we’re here, it’ll just piss me off and give Mick here ideas.”

The kid closes his mouth from where he was clearly about to leap in with some no doubt intriguing suggestions. “So why are you here?” he says instead.

“Sorry about kidnapping you, icing your brother, and making you give up your friend’s name to me,” Len lists off quickly, like taking a band-aid off a wound. “Also, for excessively building up your self-confidence by pretending I thought that vacuum cleaner was actually a weapon.”

Mick snickers. Ramon looks offended, but also confused. “Are you _apologizing_ to me?” he asks.

“Yep,” Len says, and turns to go. “C’mon, Mick.”

Mick pats Ramon on the head. “If you think of any improvements for the guns, send ‘em to me,” he says. “I’ll give you my number.”

Ramon blinks, accepts the slip of paper Mick hands him, and watches them open-mouthed as they leave. Right before they get to the stairs, he yells, “We’re not friends! I totally still hate you! What _even_ – ”

Mick’s still snickering when they get to the car. 

“Where to now?” he asks a sulking Len.

“The Flash lives with a cop,” Len says with a sigh. “So STAR Labs.”

Mick drives, because he always drives. It occurs to him to wonder how Len obtained transportation in the two years they didn’t see each other. He’d been so busy worrying about if Len was eating right or watching his back so he didn’t get shot; that one hadn’t occurred to him. Hopefully he’d done the smart thing and asked Lisa to sub in or gotten a decent getaway guy, because Len reliant on his own driving in anything other than a situation where Mick has gotten shot and he’s too busy fretting to remember his driving-related anxiety is just a recipe for trouble.

Getting into STAR Labs isn’t just easy, it’s pathetic. Mick takes a minute to tape up a piece of paper with “SECURITY BREACH: Official Villain Entrance Through Here” on the (open) back door they walk in, mostly because it makes Len choke trying to keep from giggling in a very un-supervillain-like way. 

Finding the Flash is equally easy, mostly because Len has figured out the computer password (Jesus Christ, the security here) and knows how to log onto the intercom system. “Hey, Flash,” he drawls into the microphone. “Come to STAR Labs. We want to chat.”

It takes about three minutes and also the suit on the other side of the room vanishes, which means, hilariously, that the Flash doesn’t have a spare. 

“You’re getting slow,” Mick tells him once he appears, shaking his head with mock concern. “All that re-building the city after the black hole getting you down?”

The Flash crosses his arms and glares at the two of them. “What do you want, Cold?” he says, focusing on Len.

“Just a few words and we’ll be on our way,” Len says. “Nothing criminal, I promise.”

The Flash doesn’t look like he believes him.

Len takes a deep breath and sighs. “Okay, then. I’m sorry for misleading you as to my intentions at Ferris Air. I’m sorry for kidnapping your friends – both of them. Sorry for that time where we lit you on fire and frost at the same time, though that’s mostly because we lost. Sorry for killing that guard to test your weak spot, for derailing that train and nearly killing you.” He thinks for a second. “Yeah, I think that’s it. And anything else I’ve forgotten, etc.”

The Flash’s expression is about as gob-smacked as Ramon’s was.

He glances at Mick like Mick’ll have an explanation.

“Don’t look at me,” Mick says. “I’m not sorry for any of it.”

“That was a terrible apology,” the Flash says. “I – what about letting the metas out?”

“I’m not sorry about that,” Len says. “I may be a thief, a liar, and a murderer, Flash, but unlawful imprisonment’s just wrong.”

The Flash is still spluttering angrily as they head out. Mick waves goodbye.

“I should arrest you both!” the Flash shouts.

“If you don’t want people to break and enter, you should consider locking your front door,” Mick tells him kindly. “Also, can Len tell me who you are? It’s bugging him not to be able to boast about his brilliance to someone.”

“No!”

“I won’t tell anyone either,” Mick offers.

“ _Still no!_ ”

They swing by the pretty doctor’s place next. 

An older woman opens the door with a scowl. “Are you her new boyfriend?” she asks without any preamble and with a considerable bit of hostility. 

Len blinks, glances up to heaven for forgiveness, and smiles his most charming con-artist smile. “Yes, I am. I’m sorry, I was here to surprise Caitlin with dinner reservations to _L'Ambroisie_. I didn’t realize she was going to have guests over.”

The woman’s eyebrows shoot up at the mention of the most exclusive, expensive restaurant in Central City. “I’m her mother,” she says, clearly knocked somewhat off balance. 

Len swiftly captures her hand and kisses the back of it. “I see where Caitlin gets all of her loveliness,” he says. “Could you call her? I’ll just have a quick word with her and leave the two of you be; we can always move the reservations for another night.”

The woman pulls away, slight flush on her cheeks. “Caitlin!” she calls and quickly hurries away, letting the door close most of the way.

Mick, who stopped a few steps down the hallway when he saw what was going on, has to lean his head against the wall to stop himself from laughing out loud. His shoulders are shaking.

Even Len is fighting a smile.

The door opens again, this time with a stressed-looking doctor. “Thanks for the save –” she starts, then stops and gapes when she sees them. They’re clearly not who she was expecting.

“Just wanted to swing by and say sorry for the kidnapping last year and for anything else I might’ve done to you,” Len says smoothly. “But if you need an excuse to leave, we’d be happy to kidnap you again.”

The doctor actually looks tempted. “Thank you,” she says politely, glancing back inside. “But, um, I’d really rather not have my life get threatened again.”

“We’d let you go after a few blocks,” Mick offers. “Overbearing mother hens are a pain in the ass.”

Len – who knows perfectly well that Mick’s talking about him – glares.

The doctor giggles, then slaps a hand over her mouth like she’s conceding something. “Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay,” she says. “Mom’ll want to grill me about my new, uh, ‘boyfriend’ now anyway.”

“Feel free to make up any details you like, I won’t take it personally,” Len tells her, and they leave her there, still giggling.

“That didn’t go as badly as I thought it would,” Mick observes when they get back to the car.

“Are you kidding? That was terrible,” Len says. “I am never making another friend outside of you and Lisa ever again.”


	7. Pesach (Passover)

Sara’s in the kitchen with Stein and Jax, wondering why the cabinet looks like it’s been ravaged and where all the cereal went, when Snart strides in through the door. “There you are,” he says briskly, except instead of looking at Sara like usual he’s looking at Stein. “We need to talk procedure for tonight. I assume you’ll take the head of the table?”

“I…what?” Stein says bemusedly. “What are you talking about?”

Snart rolls his eyes and pulls out a small calendar out of his pocket. “One thing you learn in prison,” he drawls, “is how to keep time when you’re living in a featureless box.” He offers the calendar, with its days crossed off and one date circled in red. “According to this and counting from when we took off in January, we’ve hit April.”

“Does something important happen in April?” Sara asks, amused. “Are you inviting people to your birthday party?” She pauses, thinking back to their most recent mission with the babies. “I thought you were born in June.”

“I am born in June,” Snart says. “It’s fucking Passover.”

“Good lord, you’re right,” Stein says.

“It’s what now?” Jax asks.

“Passover, Jefferson,” Stein says, frowning down at the calendar. “One of the more important Jewish holidays. Mr. Snart, the preparations in advance…?” 

“Mick’s burning the chametz now,” Snart says, which presumably means something to Stein, who nods. “And I put in orders with Gideon for the rest. I’m cultural, not religious, so we can do this as quick as possible.”

“Of course,” Stein says. “And I would be happy to take the head of the table. Might as well get some use out of those years at rabbinical school, after all. Jefferson, Ms. Lance, you should both attend; the more the merrier.”

Jefferson’s eyebrows have gone up to his hairline and only years of controlling her expression are keeping Sara’s from doing the same. 

“You’re _Jewish_?” Jax asks Snart. “With a name like that?”

“Mom’s side,” Snart says shortly. “Invite who you like, Stein; dinner starts at six.”

Sara passes on word to Kendra and Ray, who both agree to attend. Jax meets up with her in the corridor and says, “I tried to invite Rip, but he yelled at me to leave him alone and that he’s not to be disturbed as he plots the best course to 2166.”

Sara shrugs. “His loss,” she says confidently. She’s not going to miss this show for the world, even if the only thing she knows about Passover is that it was celebrated by Jesus on Good Friday.

It ends up being a lot more fun than she expected. Rory attends, sitting at Snart’s side; they’re still awkward with each other, obviously, but they seem to be bulldozing through it in favor of the holiday.

At around six o’clock, ship time, Snart lights the candles, chanting something vaguely lyrical and sing-song-y, and Stein, sitting at the head of the table, washes his hand in some bowl. Then the drinking starts.

Technically, there’s a lot of speed-reading of the various prayers, followed by drinking – 

“When the instructions say you’re supposed to finish your cup each time, do they really mean it?” Kendra says, squinting into her glass of red wine.

“You can take a sip if you prefer,” Stein says. “But it is considered a gesture of respect and piety to finish your glass.”

“I like this holiday,” Sara says to Rory, draining her glass.

“Wait till you see Purim,” he says, draining his. 

“I think I’m gonna stick to sipping,” Jax says, but a bit of friendly egging on by Snart and Ray convinces him to take a large gulp instead.

– and a long retelling of the Exodus story, which has a lot more mathematics and random snarky asides than she’d thought (Snart spins a particularly gifted anecdote which starts off serious and turns out to have an absolutely _terrible_ punchline), and there’s a lot of shameless singing – 

“Wait, why am I the soloist?” Jax squawks. “I’m not even Jewish!”

“You are, however, the youngest at the table, Jefferson,” Stein says. He’s not even trying to hide his smirk.

“C’mon, Jax,” Snart says. “My baby sister learned to do it by age four, I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“You’re fucking with me about standing on a chair, though, right?”

“Traditionally that’s done so that the children will be tall enough to be seen by the rest of the table,” Stein says.

“But tonight’s all about tradition, right?” Rory smirks. “Up you go, kiddo.”

“I hate you _all_.”

“Dayenu’s gonna be great,” Snart says, grinning. “That’s a _group_ song.”

– and there’s even some imaginative role-playing (Sara gets cast as the wise child, Snart as the wicked, and Rory as the simple, with Ray incongruously reading the part of the child who doesn’t know how to ask questions, much to everyone else’s amusement), dipping fingers in wine and reciting the plagues with malicious glee (plus an impromptu round of the song “the Plagues” from the Prince of Egypt animated movie with Gideon providing the music and text projected onto a screen), a glass of wine for a ghost (“Prophet!” Stein says. “Not a ghost!” “Oh, yeah, he’s totally Casper,” Snart says with an evil grin. “Look, half the wine in the glass disappeared.” “And how the hell is your ghost supposed to get onto the freaking Waverider?” Jax asked skeptically. “He’s a prophet, not a ghost,” Stein says. “And it’s called _faith_.” “Or possibly a time ship,” Rory adds and they all stew over that for a few minutes) and even a scavenger hunt.

Apparently the piece of broken matzah that got put aside earlier got hidden at some point – not by Snart, as Rory mutters something about Snart hiding shit way too well and no one getting any dessert for hours and hours – and everyone under the age of thirty (Sara, Kendra, Jax and Ray “because mental age counts”) are sent off to look for it.

It turns out to be tucked under one of the main consoles and they probably wouldn’t have found it if Gideon hadn’t taken pity on them and started warming and cooling the room in accordance with their guesses.

They return in triumph and find out that, apparently, certain traditions see the return of the matzah piece (the “afikomen”) as a teaching moment about the benefits of blackmail, because no one’s allowed to have dessert until it’s returned. 

So much about Stein and Snart is explained, really.

Everyone’s flushed with wine and cheerful with singing and Snart’s as relaxed as Sara’s ever seen him, chattering happily with an amused looking Rory about something or another, Ray is feeding Kendra pieces of flourless chocolate cake with a besotted look, and Jax is slicing some for Stein, and that’s when Rip pokes his head in through the door.

“What’s this you’re all doing?” he says, sounding annoyed. “You do realize that we have real work to be focusing on, not wasting time with this absurdly childish religious frippery.”

Stein’s face goes red with offense and Jax and Ray are turning towards Rip with dismayed expressions on their face, but Sara’s watching Snart’s face go pale and shut down, all the joy and calm and peace seeping out of him to be replaced with hastily covered hurt, and she gets up and punches Rip in the face.

Then she tosses him out and slams the door in his face before turning back to everyone else.

“I think I deserve another slice of cake for that,” she announces. 

That gets a smile out of everyone, even Snart.


	8. Yom HaZikaron

After Ray drove Mick away from the police - a much less exciting event than television and movies had led him to believe, especially with Mick snapping at him to go slower, smoother, to honk his horn irritably like he had no idea what was causing the holdup - they went back to the safe house Mick was staying at. 

It wasn't as bad as Ray had privately been concerned it would be - a first floor apartment in a bad area, but pretty spacious and surprisingly neat - but while Mick went to unload his take in the back, Ray couldn't help but explore the rest of the place.

The couch showed signs of having been slept on - there was a pillow shoved into one of the sides - but the bedroom looked lived in, too; it was surprisingly messy in contrast to the rest of the apartment, some clothing on the floor or tossed over a chair, books with bookmarks at varying points, one book splayed open on its face (Ray's going to have to tell Mick how much that damages the spine). The bed was a queen, with a giant pile of pillows on the left side and only one or two on the right. 

The bathroom was neat, with a medicine cabinet and three toothbrushes (three?) in varying colors. 

It was in the kitchen that Ray found what he'd been really worried about: fire, Mick's oldest vice. 

Oddly enough, it wasn't as unrestrained as Ray had been expecting. No fireplace, no fire pit, no candles or matches or lighters strewn on every surface. Just one big, fat plain white candle in a saucer meant to catch the wax, burning steadily, with two rocks next to it that didn't seem to be serving any particular purpose. 

Still, judging by the amount of wax, Mick must have left this candle burning while he went out on his heist, risking his entire safehouse and possibly the neighborhood going up in flames in his absence. Well, maybe he doesn't care so much now that Snart's gone. But if Ray's going to be Mick's new partner, he's going to have to start taking on the more difficult aspects - controlling Mick's pyromania, for one - immediately. 

Ray goes to blow it out.

Mick's hand falls heavily on his shoulder and yanks him back before he can lean in.

"Don't touch that one," Mick says.

"Why not?" Ray asks. "You shouldn't just leave candles lying around when you're not here."

"I'm not stupid, Haircut; I know better than that. But not that one. It's Snart's."

Ray blinks. "Snart's? The candle? What do you mean?"

Mick's staring at the candle, something a little lost in his expression. "It's Memorial Day," he says. "In Israel, I mean, not here. Len's mom used to light a candle that day, for all the people who'd died fighting, soldiers and heroes and shit. He used to do it to, sometimes."

"Died fighting," Ray echoes. "That's Snart, too."

"Yeah," Mick says. "Thought he'd appreciate it."

"I'm sure he does," Ray says.

Mick snorts.

"He doesn't appreciate anything anymore, Haircut," he says, turning away. "He's dead. We're not. So what's the plan?"

Ray glances back at the candles on the way out of the room. "Do the rocks mean anything?" he asks, remembering how much symbolism there was in the Passover dinner they'd all shared. Remembering how Snart had actually laughed without scorn or malice. 

Mick's quiet for a long minute before shrugging again. "You leave them on graves," he says shortly. "He doesn’t have one. Now c'mon, Haircut, you didn't come all this way without an idea."

Ray lets himself be led out of the room and onto another conversational topic, but just before they leaves the safehouse he grabs a pebble from the street and hurries back inside to drop it off next to the still-burning candle.

"I'll take care of him for you," he whispers, and runs back out.


	9. Purim

When Len and Mick return home from time travelling – the second round of it, as after the first round of it everyone thought Len was _dead_ – they end up arriving back around Purim, which is deeply hilarious to Lisa because no one ever guesses how much of a geek Len is for the holidays and because no one ever seems to expect a holiday in March. Growing up, Len was the one that celebrated the holidays – candles in the upstairs window where their dad couldn’t see, stolen apples and honey wine every new year, a little lean-to in the park – and he’d always been _very enthusiastic_ about Purim.

After all, it’s not every religion that has a holiday which explicitly mandates that you must get so blisteringly drunk that you no longer know the difference between good and evil. 

Lisa and Mick always liked that part of it. 

After a near-death experience like he’s had, Len’s feeling particularly generous with handing out goodies this year, which according to him is another essential part of the holiday. Lisa tags along as he goes to hand out a mishloach manot to everyone he knows because obviously this is going to be amazing.

Mick gets a chalice filled with mead, a fur coat, three pies, and an IOU for a punch in the face next time Len deserves it. Lisa grins.

Cisco and Caitlin get pairs of glasses from the future, four shots of tequila and a single brownie, which had a note saying “be careful!” on it even though it had absolutely nothing in it but eggs and chocolate and sugar, because Len’s a little shit who likes to play with people’s paranoia. Lisa smirks.

Barry gets a bottle of vodka that Gideon promises will work even on him, six tubs of ice cream, and a kitten wearing a Flash hoodie, and possibly Len’s virtue for all Lisa knows because he won’t let her see what he’s written on the post-it note that accompanies it. Lisa snickers. 

Then there’s the members of the Legends crew, which Len seems to have adopted and of course gifts in turn:

Jax and Stein get a plate of chili double chocolate chip cookies, a first edition HG Wells novel, a set of impressive and probably illegal fireworks, an emerald-green bottle of absinthe and a pair of drinking glasses. Lisa giggles.

Ray gets a package of Turkish delight, an unlabeled bottle of moonshine, a futuristic looking engine for his robot suit which Len picked up in 2146, and a promise to act as a better wingman in the future (Lisa has no idea where that came from). Lisa laughs.

Sara gets a matryoshka painted to look like a nurse, a whole bucket (literally) of gin, and a frozen Alaska, ice cream covered in merengue and lit on fire. Lisa is intrigued. 

“Hey, Lenny,” Lisa says when this is all done. “What did you get me?”

She gets a lollipop, a one-dollar bottle of beer from a brand that’s been discontinued since the 1970s, and Sara wrapped in a bow.

Best. Gift. Ever.

(The ensuing drinking party is one to remember.)

**Author's Note:**

> So, so much not representative of good Judaism. Like, there's good religious Jews, and then there's Len somewhere over there across a football field. Mostly based on my family traditions because that's what I know.


End file.
